


Wizard’s Pupil

by lyricalballads



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalballads/pseuds/lyricalballads
Summary: I have seen what is in your father's heart, Faramir son of Denethor, and do not despair, for it is not quite as cold as he has led himself to believe.
Relationships: Denethor II & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Faramir (Son of Denethor II) & Gandalf | Mithrandir
Kudos: 5





	Wizard’s Pupil

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story years ago, sometime in either 2011 or 2012. It was originally posted on fanfiction.net.

_Gandalf it was that last spoke to Faramir ere he rode east. "Do not throw your life away rashly or in bitterness," he said. "You will be needed here, for other things than war. Your father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it ere the end. Farewell!"_

— _The Return of the King, Chapter IV_

::

I have seen what is in your father's heart, Faramir son of Denethor, and do not despair, for it is not quite as cold as he has led himself to believe. I still see a spark of warmth, buried beneath all the frost of grief and age, but it burns feebly and will soon fade if he does not take care.

Understand, Faramir, that grief has touched your father more deeply than any sword wound or puncture from an arrow, but not so deeply that there is no hope left. That hope lives within you, his youngest son, though he chooses to disregard your worth and wrap himself up in despair, as if it is a shroud that will cover him from all the pain and doom of the world. Yes, he hides behind his grief and longs for Boromir, always for Boromir, and refuses to listen to me when I warn him about such blindness.

You know this well, for he will not hear counsel from you either. Grey Fool, Denethor has called me, but I am grey no longer and still he resents me, referring to you as "Wizard's Pupil" with the highest scorn. Ah, this wounds you deeply; I see it plainly in the shadows within your face when those words reach your ears, though you will not speak these sentiments aloud. How I fondly remember those days spent in your father's neglected library, shut up in that musty old tower surrounded by countless books and scrolls, while Boromir practiced his weapons training. How brightly your young eyes shone as I unrolled great maps before you, telling you histories of lands you had never seen, and how solemnly you listened to my tales as you grew to manhood.

Yes, yes. You remember as well. Time and time again I granted you the care and respect you had longed for since childhood, dedicating hours to teaching you the lore and history you ought to have learned from your father. For he possesses a great knowledge of lore as I am certain you know, a knowledge that gradually deteriorates as he sinks further into despair.

How eager you always were upon learning that Mithrandir had arrived in Minas Tirith. How eager, and yet I perceived you as sad. Since your boyhood I made my greatest effort to be your guide, Faramir, but what you truly needed was a father.

There is no need to pretend you care not for his judgment. Have I not witnessed long years in which you have sought Denethor's approval, wishing for him to look upon you favorably? Have I not witnessed his never-ceasing praise of your brother Boromir? You do not believe that your father loves you; no, nor have you believed this for many a long year, throughout the span of your lifetime, I imagine. But I tell you now, in the hour in which all of your hope has faded, that your father does not despise you and never has.

How can he, when you and he are so alike? Oh yes, you are noble like your father, and read the hearts of men as shrewdly as he does, though you are much more gentle, like your late mother. That, I imagine, is where the problem lies.

And yes, I know it grieves you to hear of the mother you scarcely knew, and to hear that you are very much like your father, but you are the best of both of your parents. You have grown to become the man your father ought to be, though Denethor himself would firmly deny this, and you possess the compassionate nature of your mother who yearned for the sea and faded away. You remind your father far too much of her, and have done so since childhood, you know. Denethor is a man who knows not how to bear his grief, and he shuns the child who reminds him of his wife when he ought to embrace him instead.

Long has he wished you from his sight to escape the ghost of your kind mother, and long have you despaired of his disfavor, knowing he is blind to your virtues and sees only fault. You know how he wishes to see Boromir in your place in his highest hour of grief, and this in turn dampens your spirits.

You are all he has left, Faramir, though he tries not to remember his fatherly love for you.

What the outcome of this war will be, I do not know, but I know that your father cannot forget forever. He will recall that he loves you, Faramir, though I fear the price he may have to pay to remember.


End file.
